


The Restless Life

by gizkas



Series: in the spaces [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Fix-It, Jyn joins the Pathfinders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9090868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gizkas/pseuds/gizkas
Summary: “The universe is a small place,” she muses. “Maybe we’ll find each other again in it.”--Jyn, Cassian, and their intersecting moments during the Galactic Civil War.





	

**Yavin IV.**

 

She has to hear about it from the others later--the mission, the destruction of the Death Star, the medal ceremony. Her time on Yavin IV following their evacuation from Scarif is short and the entirety of it is spent in a medicalized coma. 

 

When Jyn Erso wakes, she does so aboard a medical transport, and she finds out the following pieces of information:

 

Most members of Rogue One had survived.

Captain Cassian Andor among them.

The two had shared a room in the medbay for most of their recovery, but resources were scarce and Cassian a priority patient.

This resulted in Jyn being sent to a “floating tank” -- a portable medcenter shipped from outpost to outpost-- and Cassian to one of the Rebellion’s facilities. He was in good condition, had woke up a week ago and was sent back into field on a covert mission.

 

She finds this out from a message sent by Mon Mothma herself.

 

_ Thank you for your efforts.  _ It says.  _ I have attached a list of the deceased from the Battle of Scarif, they will not be forgotten. _

 

She looks at the list. And her selfish heart indulges in seeing Bodhi, Chirrut, and Baze absent from it. But it also does not tell her where they are now--where any of them are.

 

_ We are indebted to the crew of Rogue One. Consider yourself liberated, Jyn Erso. _

 

Jyn stares at the screen, her front teeth biting into her lower lip. It was what she wanted, once. To be left alone. The datapad in her hand feels impossibly light, as though it were never there.  She clears her throat, looks up at the medic who handed it to her.

 

“Was that all, then?”

 

The medic looks back at her. Jyn is not self-conscious, but she lets a hand run over the top of her now bare head. The heat had taken her hair. The blast had left a burn scar down the left side of her face -- the side that hadn’t been pressed against his. The medic is young, with springy, blond curls and wide green eyes.

 

“No, ma’am. There was another message. But…”

 

“But?”

 

“I was instructed only to give it to you if you wanted to enlist.” He coughs into his free hand. “Officially, that is. With a rank.”

 

Jyn stares up into this stranger’s face. The hand on her head slides down to over her heart. The med tunic parts enough for her to know the kyber crystal is gone. A small casualty, all things considered, but one that stings.

 

“And if I refuse?”

 

“We have orders to release you at the next port.”

 

She nods. The hand on her chest drops down to her lap. Just like that, Jyn Erso can disappear again.

 

_ We don’t all have the luxury of deciding when and where we want to care about something. _

 

“Ma’am?”

 

_ Fingers digging into her arms. “Your father would be proud.” _

 

Jyn clears her throat. “Well. I suppose no one keeps Mon Mothma waiting.”

 

The look of excitement, of naivety mixed with idealism, makes her uncomfortable. The medic near slams the datapad into her palm and Jyn tries not to wince at the force.

 

With only a second of hesitation, she taps her thumb against the screen.

 

_ Sergeant Erso. _

 

She nearly laughs. But keeps reading.

 

_ I would like to formally welcome you to the Pathfinders operation.  _

 

Jyn reads. Once she’s done, she quietly informs her attendant of where she needs to go next. Once she’s alone, she leans against the viewport of her room, eyes tracking the stars as they fly past them.

 

“The universe is a small place,” she muses. “Maybe we’ll find each other again in it.”

 

The darkness doesn’t give her an answer, but then again, it never does.

 

**Derra IV**

 

It’s been nearly a year since she’s set foot on a rebel base, and she hates that it is this one she manages to see. Derra IV is a ramshackle network of buildings, loosely connected by patchy comm systems and remote outposts, half buried in the trees which cover the planet’s surface. The floor is dirt under her well-scuffed boots, the air stagnant on her tongue. 

 

“Expecting them to roll out a carpet?” Her superior jokes next to her good-naturedly. 

 

Jyn sends Kes Dameron an amused look. He’s a good head taller than her, smiles easy, and can fight off a platoon of stormtroopers with light blasters. She isn’t used to following orders, but ones from Kes are easy enough for her to manage. Though they share the same rank, he’s the seasoned member of the specialist group she’s found herself in.

 

“Just a floor.” Jyn’s gaze finds itself drifting. She watches the monitors around the base, the ones several other soldiers have crowded around. They post the dead, the incoming, the departing. For many, it’s the only way for them to keep track of their loved ones.

 

Kes stops in front of one such monitor. And she watches with a pang of envy as he visibly uncoils--his shoulders loosen, the hold he has on the strap of his pack goes lax. Jyn reads what he’s reading, and sees GREEN SQUADRON: INCOMING posted in Aurabesh.

 

“Time for me to find a drink,” she says carefully.

 

“Meet up at 400 hours,” Kes warns, a boyish smile crossing his features.

 

Jyn shakes her head, shoulders her pack, and makes for the mess-- knowing that Kes is a second away from bolting to the hangers where his wife will be arriving.

 

\--

 

The Pathfinders are specialists. They are a stealth and reconnaissance unit, dropped into combat zones for scouting and securing landing zones for ground assaults. As such, it’s one that doesn’t allow for much communication, or stops in major ports.

 

But they have eight hours on base until they’re due to leave to the next mission, and after Jyn helps herself to a single glass of what tastes like coolant, she finds herself at the same monitor Kes had stared at earlier.

 

They serve as communications posts as well. And before Jyn can think, she’s scrolling through the messages left behind. Most are addressed soldier to soldier--former platoonmates, co-pilots, or, as in the case of Kes and Shara Bey, spouses or loved ones.

 

After about a half hour of searching, Jyn finds one addressed to her.

 

She opens it.

 

It’s from Bodhi. She smiles at the message-- it’s short, just an update that he’s alive. Flying in Alliance Support Services under a Lieutenant Dreeves. It’s a single sentence. But it’s worth thousands of words, to have that single sentence addressed to her.

 

Jyn is just posting her response--a single sentence as well--when a hand lands on her shoulder.

 

She grips it, pivoting and about to lift-

-when her eyes meet those of Captain Cassian Andor.

 

Her hand goes lax on his wrist but does not drop it.

 

He is not the same. His stubble has made way for a full beard, one that fails to hide the new scar that tugs down a corner of his lips. There are light burn marks on the right side of his face, purple circles under his eyes.

 

And he is looking at her, silently but intently.

 

She does not know what to do or say, so she lets her gut decide.

 

Her arms wrap around him tightly, her face is buried in the crook of his neck. His arms grab onto her less than a second later, almost painful. They say nothing, as Scarif and a year of missions and battles drops away. Jyn listens to his breathing, his heartbeat. She feels the hard lines of his body underneath his worn, leather jacket and tries to lose herself in their form.

 

After what feels like hours, she hears his voice quietly in her ear.

 

“I have an hour.”

 

It’s not enough. It’s stolen time for two people who have made their biggest difference as thieves.

 

Reluctantly, she pulls back.

 

“I know a bar.”

 

\--

 

The mess is full, even though it’s late. The Alliance forces are in a perpetual state of astro-lag, and those of Derra IV are no exceptions.

 

But they find a corner that is quiet enough, and once they sit, she rests her arm on the table and he rests his hand on top of it. 

 

And they talk. About the Pathfinders, around his work. It’s grounded in their missions, in the Alliance, in the war, all but for one, brief exchange:

 

“I did not stop thinking of you,” he admits.

 

She feels something in her let go. “...I was hoping that you wouldn’t.”

 

\--

 

When Cassian receives the call to leave, he hesitates. And Jyn makes the decision for him when she scoots her chair back and leans over the table.

 

The kiss is not something for the holos. It is rushed, their bodies awkwardly positioned and clumsy. But it’s real, and it’s in front of her, and Jyn holds onto the collar of his jacket more tightly than she’s ever held on to anything before.

 

When he pulls away, he doesn’t make her any promises.   
When he goes, she doesn’t say any goodbyes.

  
  


**Echo Base**

Her boots are hardly on the ground when she feels a hand on her bicep and a pull into a darkened hall. 

 

Jyn’s back is pressed against the cold, metal wall and she is about to reach for her baton when she sees Cassian’s face trained on hers. He waits until she recognizes him before he brings his hands to the sides of her face. His thumb scrapes over one of her cheeks (the burned one) before he lowers his lips to hers.

 

His mouth is hot in contrast to the cold air of Hoth, insistent and desperate against her own. Jyn’s fingers let go of her travel pack in favor of gripping his parka, using the fabric as leverage to make up for the height difference. His hand rests against the small of her back, drawing her closer as the other arm braces his weight against the wall.

 

She pulls against his jacket harder. He presses tighter into her body.

 

“I have five hours,” she manages to whisper against his throat.

 

“I have a room.”

 

\--

 

She is in a half-doze, her naked back against Cassian’s chest, when she gets the reminder for departure. Jyn closes her eyes, holds onto the arm that is slung lazily over her hips, and tries to keep this moment for as long as she needs to make it into a memory.

 

Behind her, she feels him let go of a sigh. She is surprisingly has the thought that it is resigned. “Where are you going?”

 

She straightens, his touch and his warmth sliding from her like water. Jyn bends over to pick up her discarded underlay shirt. “Aren’t you supposed to be the intelligence officer?”

 

She feels his stare on her as he answers his own question. “Sullust.”

 

She pulls on her shirt. Reaches for her pants. “Not much there, from the sound of it.”

 

“Mostly volcanos,” he agrees. 

 

Jyn shifts on the edge of the bed, turning halfway to face him. In the dark, he looks more withdrawn than usual, but that could be something attributed to her own selfish, wishful thinking. She stares at his handsome features, the eyes that betray the lack of sleep. He is a taciturn man, but she thinks she is beginning to figure out his silences.

 

“I never thought I’d get this far,” she confesses. As soon as the words leave her mouth, she’s not sure why.

 

He sits up, brings one hand to her hair as he kisses her forehead and whispers a reminder against it.

 

“There’s still a lot further to go.”

 

**Haven Base**

It’s ten months before she sees him again, and then, it’s only for an instant. It’s the day she and the other Pathfinders are due to ship off to their next battle, and the crew is loading into the repulsor lift that will take them from the cavernous base to the surface, from the surface to the sky.

 

The lift’s doors are closing in front of her when she hears Graav, the youngest member of the Pathfinders jokingly call out:

 

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

 

Jyn looks up from the survival gear she’s inventorying out of a minimal curiosity, but her head snaps back in a double-take when she registers what she sees.

 

It’s Cassian wearing his standard, tan fatigues, pushing his way through the teeming crowd of soldiers. It takes her a moment to understand that he’s in a hurry out of an attempt to reach their lift. Another to understand that he’s trying to reach  _ her.  _

 

The lift’s doors are transparent and soundproof, and he is a good four meters away. But her eyes meet his, and he watches her leave with silent understanding that  _ does  _ something irreversible to her.

 

Jyn does not look away from him until the lift shoots toward the surface, and even then her gaze doesn’t drift from where he stood.

 

“...Captain Andor, wasn’t that?” Kes asks her with far too much understanding in his tone.

 

She doesn’t know how to answer. Because as they climb to the surface, several revelations unfold in Jyn Erso:

 

She wanted to survive.   
Because she wanted to make sure she could see him again.

And that small bit of hope, tenacious and real and stubborn, is somehow more terrifying to her than the whole of Scarif.

  
  


**Endor**

 

Her body is battered and bruised by the time they make it to the rendezvous point. As one of the last companies to return to the Ewok village, the celebration is already in full swing, music and laughter echoing throughout the forest trees. She limps, vision going black around the edges as she struggles to match Kes’s footsteps. 

 

He keeps his arm across her back, her own arm over his shoulders, as he supports her through the rickety walkways of the treetops. “That was a hell of a shot you took.”

 

She winces. “Just on the side.”

 

“Still. Sure you don’t want me to take you to the medbay?”

 

Jyn undertakes the mental effort necessary to transform her wince into a grimace. “Don’t you dare.”

 

She shuffles forward. Kes allows her to set the pace. The smell of bonfires, meat, and alcohol hit her nostrils. 

 

“Almost there, Erso. Few more steps.” They round a corner. “Watch your feet.”

 

“Thanks,” she manages. With a heave, she brings one foot up. Another. Eventually, they climb enough steps to reach the base of the party.

 

The Death Star had been destroyed. Again. 

 

She supposes there’s worse causes to celebrate.

 

Her eyes trained on the ground, they go to round another corner when a pair of men’s boots intrude upon her vision.

 

“Captain Andor,” Kes greets, and Jyn feels him go for a half-hearted salute at her side.

 

“Sergeant Dameron.” A strained breath. “Sergeant Erso.”

 

Jyn tilts her head up. Cassian stares at her with a look she doesn’t recognize-- eyes soft, lips pressed into a tight line. It doesn’t take long for his attention to focus on the bandages around her midsection, the darkened bloodstain soaking through the center of them. 

 

“I’ll take it from here,” he tells Kes, but his eyes don’t leave her.

 

Kes wordlessly transfers her arm from his shoulders to Cassian’s, dipping down to exit the contact. “The Pathfinder’s are having a drink together on the East side, join us when you can,” he tells her warmly, before leaving. 

 

Jyn collapses against Cassian’s frame. His arm wraps around her waist, mindful of the bandages. His opposite hand interlaces with hers, the thumb trailing over her scabbed-over knuckles. She feels, rather than observes, a heavy tension to him.

 

“You were late,” he states neutrally when how he means it is anything but.

 

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I’m not used to someone expecting me.”

 

Before he can answer, she takes an exploratory step. He shadows it.

 

“...someone is.” There’s the hint of anger in his tone, born from what she slowly realizes is worry.

 

“Sorry,” she mutters.

 

“Don’t be sorry.” They stop just outside of the main bonfire. Cassian lowers her onto a bench, and kneels in front of her before it. His fingers absently trace over the bandage. “Just come back.”

 

Jyn watches him watch her wound, and she doesn’t know what to do or how to respond. Instead she tries to clear her throat.  What comes over her is something she doesn’t predict. Maybe it’s the fires, or the music, or the yet-again-evaded death, but she finds herself greedy. And afraid.

 

“Stay with me tonight?” She asks.

 

Still kneeling, Cassian nods. His hand rests over hers on the bench. 

 

“As many nights as I can,” he whispers.

 

Jyn threads her free hand through his hair. The celebration roars behind them, but this feels quiet.

 

The universe is a small place. They’ll find their other moments where they can.


End file.
